


Puppy-Love

by WhatTheBodyGraspsNot



Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, but my heart couldn't take that shit right off the bat, my brain said "tackle ander's drinking issue!" "the internalized homophobia!", takes place between season 1 and season 2, they live together without it affecting their families because life's too short and i said so.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 04:37:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20772662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot/pseuds/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot
Summary: Omar and Ander have said it before - they’ve both said "I love you" but only under very intense circumstances and only exactly once, and it's getting to Omar. Because his heart is way too full. And Ander means way too much to him. And maybe they're the type of couple that only says these things once, but...





	Puppy-Love

* * *

Omar thinks about it, but not too much.

Not enough to brood.

Not enough to fixate.

Because if he thinks about it too much it swallows him whole - pulls him along like Ander had this afternoon, he and Guzmán floating passively in the pool before him.

It’s not that Omar didn’t want to come with him, it’s just that he didn’t want to come _ here. _Not to Guzmán’s. More often than not, hanging out with Guzmán means hanging out with Lu. Or more like, Ander hangs out with Guzmán while Omar and Lu are left to each other.

And look, the wall between himself and Lu was technically never _ super _high to begin with, but there’s definitely a disconnect - definitely a surface-level “oh, nice shoes”/“love that color on you” sort of thing that never really fleshes out into much more than that. Which is...

Omar’s fine with it. He guesses. They don’t need to have long, meaningful conversations while their boyfriends fuck off with their best-friendom. It’s just…

It leaves a hole.

Silence.

Room for Omar’s thoughts to come slithering into, his eyes unknowingly tracking Ander as he floats a few feet away in the water, arms propping himself up on the inflatable lounge chair.

Because he’s so pretty it hurts... Probably doesn’t even realize it in this moment... Listens, nodding every once in a while as Guzmán carries on and-...

Omar doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he gets caught, Ander’s gaze softening and his own grin gently creeping forward as soon as his eyes flick up to meet him. 

It has Omar’s heart flipping a little - yes, ‘a little’ but _ way too much _for what just happened and when Lu says it, it’s got those thoughts slithering around again.

“Look at you two.” Her glass threatens to spill as she clutches it coolly to her chest - “I remember when Guzmán and I were like that...” - crosses her legs on the chaise lounge - “Puppy-love can fuck you up, can’t it…”

It’d be a question if she wasn’t so clearly in her own head. So clearly wistful and full of her own slithering thoughts.

And Omar doesn’t have an answer anyway, attention fixing back on where Ander has buried his grin against his arms where they rest. Because…

Puppy-love.

Is that what it is?

Omar does love him - so much and so fully that it swallows him up and he can’t even look at him sometimes and-

And _ fuck, _this is why he doesn’t think too hard about this.

Because if he thinks too hard, then he remembers how hopelessly far gone he is for Ander. And how that could very realistically be too much for him. For _ them. _Because they’ve said it before - they’ve both admitted their feelings but only under very intense circumstances and only exactly once and-

...and...

Omar sits back.

Wills his brain to ease off. 

Falls right back into watching Ander, that grin still hidden but eyes giving it away as they drop from Guzmán and into his own thoughts floating past in the water.

Omar wants to tell him. _ Will _tell him. 

He just needs to calm his ass down first.

* * *

Turns out, it’s way easier to calm his ass down when alcohol is involved.

But he already knew that, didn’t he.

Samuel’s place is hopping - drinks flowing easily - music even easier. It’s loud and dark and everything Omar’s looking for, because it’s easy to interrupt his own brain here, eased back against the couch in the living room, Samuel laughing in the chair to his right.

The distractions come every minute on the minute - get him good and comfortable - slide everything into a nice sense of _ being. _

Across the coffee table, Christian launches himself into a bullshit plan that he probably knows no one will go along with, but Omar’s attention is flicking through his phone, thumb sliding through the top bar of Insta stories.

Ander’s added something to his since they’ve been here. Dark lighting. Steady shot. Slow zoom in.

_‘Oh_-mar.’ comes his voice in the video - that very specific way Ander sometimes stresses his name apparently falling on deaf ears as he zooms in on his unsuspecting face with the puppy-dog filter. _‘Oh-_mar.’

_ _ \- he ignores me - _ _

The video cuts off to the home screen, Omar’s face illuminated by the bright white glare. 

He doesn’t remember this happening. Wasn’t drunk yet, he doesn’t think. And yet.

Omar takes a long drink, beer bottle tipped to the ceiling and just free from his lips before it can be knocked away from the impact, the couch sinking under the familiar weight that comes in hot next to him.

Familiar weight.

Familiar smell.

Familiar touch, his hand being taken and the scolding click of a tongue as Ander looks over his nails. He swears he didn’t realize he was picking at them.

_ “Oh_-mar…” 

There it is again. Almost-nagging but he guesses for good reason.

Omar _ tsk_s back at him but doesn’t pull his hand away. He had in the beginning - the very first time it had happened. But now it’s as regular as his teasing of Ander’s anxious leg bounce and he _ guesses _it’s kind of sweet for Ander to care.

Especially when they both turn back to listen to Christian, who is now three steps further into his plotting. Because Ander doesn’t let go, drunken madness swirling around them but their hands resting comfortably in his lap. 

And it’s small, but not to Omar.

Stupid - like, really really childish that his heart still flutters from it - but he doesn’t think that’ll stop anytime soon. 

Not when it’s Ander doing it, absentminded in the way that he slowly brushes the pad of his thumb over Omar’s knuckles as they listen.

He won’t get over it.

Probably ever.

‘Puppy-love’ but bigger than that, Lu.

* * *

It’s not a secret.

They’ve said it.

It’s been said and processed and they moved into their own little place, for fuck’s sake, so-... 

Maybe they don’t need to say it again.

Maybe once is enough.

It’s not a secret.

They’ve both already said it.

But…

* * *

Their place is tiny and humble and Omar loves it because it’s theirs. 

It may be cozy, but there’s more than enough room for their studies and their toke-ups and their meals - shared as many times as they can considering schedules.

Tonight it was pasta - nothing over-the-top like some of the shit Ander’s probably used to eating at those gatherings - but it’s perfect. Because it’s theirs.

The spray of the kitchen sink nozzle washes everything away. Soap. Rinse. Muscle memory as Omar washes their dishes, belly full and brain _ just _short of that healthy buzz from the wine Ander’s mom secretly gifted them. 

And all at once, Omar is happy.

Omar is grateful.

Omar is in his head in the best way, the familiar press of a certain someone’s forehead against the back of his neck bringing a knowing smile to his face.

Typical.

“Slacker…” Of course he’s stalling back there. “You’re supposed to be starting laundry, aren’t you?” That’s their deal. He takes care of the dishes and Ander takes care of the laundry. 

His answer is mumbled into his back. “You’re important to me.”

“Mm.” The plates clink together as Omar sets the last one on the drying rack, hands going for the towel despite his boyfriend’s deliberate tone. “If I was important to you, our clothes wouldn’t be in-”

“I love you.”

Omar’s hands still… Heart flips...then flutters...damn near past his rib cage and into the stilled space before him. Because…

He turns to face him, the space kept tight between them as Ander rests his hands on either side of him on the edge of the sink. 

He’s not smiling. 

Not teasing.

Has those pretty, soulful eyes locked with his, soft but bound and determined. 

And suddenly Omar can’t breathe. Has to _ tsk, _ “So serious…” _ has to diffuse it _ because Ander always picks the weirdest times to be dramatic except it’s-... This isn’t a weird time, is it. This is a really good time for him to be dramatic, if the steady swell of Omar's heart has anything to say about it, but- “We’ve said it before, you know…” _ gotta diffuse _“You don’t have to be-”

“Omar.” Like he’s been right there with him. Like the thoughts slithered their way to him too - took no prisoners - left him here, voice hushed but steady. “I’m saying I love you.” 

Omar hears him.

Heard him the first time.

Wants to hear it again, if that’s not too much, but instead his eyes are closing, coaxed into another wave of that warm, heavy contentment as Ander leans in to kiss him.

Because this is it. This is what he’s been trying not to dwell on too much to save his own sanity - fully realized and sweeping him up and-...and _ so much more than just puppy-love. _

Ander must feel his smile against his lips because he meets it, hands sliding up to frame Omar’s neck in that very specific _ Ander way _that leaves heady warmth in their wake. If Omar had the space to think, the concept of wanting to be under those hands forever would be fully realized too - may actually already be.

But he doesn’t, because Ander is all-in and dramatic when he wants to be _ and he wants to be, _chasing after Omar’s mouth like he’s desperate for it.

And Omar has to huff a little laugh through his nose, hands teasing with how they hold off the attack, “Babe-... Damn-...” even if he wants it just as much, “Cool off, huh?”

It’s a joke - lands and sticks and Omar _ knows _this because he can practically see the gears turning in Ander’s brain as he latches on, “Cool off?” just a bit too breathy. And Omar doesn’t even get a chance to answer before Ander's retaliating - reaching - flipping on the sink behind him and pulling the spray nozzle between them so he can-

“Wh-” But it’s too late. Ander’s taken aim and fired, water spraying into Omar’s face with deadly accuracy and _ oh, if he thinks he can get away with that- _

The struggle is on - hands grabbing for the sprayer and fumbling between them as they soak themselves and Omar’s drowning in the best way - grin too big - heart too full - laugh too loud, but so is Ander’s as he slips away from him - soggy socks and that growly _ “Oh-_mar” as they fumble through the hallway, hands still chasing. 

He’s close to victory - close to getting the bedroom door shut between them but Ander’s still strong despite his break from athletics. It’s what has him pushing through the door before Omar can get it closed. It’s what has him chasing after, smile free and easy. And when Omar trips back onto their bed, he’s crawling over him - pinning him - grins meeting and breaths heavy from the playful struggle and-

...and _ fuck. _

“I love you.” It falls from Omar’s mouth as easily as he was worried it would. But there’s no need to be worried anymore. No need to think too hard.

Because Ander’s smile is softening and gaze is softening and grip is softening and _ ugh, Omar’s so in love it’s ridiculous. He should’ve said it again sooner. _

Ander’s lips pluck the breath from his lungs. Like they always have. Like they always will. And it may be sappy, but he’s gotta wrap his arms around his waist and let himself have this moment. 

Just for a second.

Just to solidify.

And when he says it, gentle against those lips - “Ander…?”

\- he gets an equally gentle: “Mm…?”

Which opens it up, everything coming together for this exact moment in their lives, his voice pitched low as he asks it. “So are you gonna start the laundry, or-”

The groan and the curse and the pillow he gets smashed into his face are all worth it.

Puppy-love but so much more.

* * *


End file.
